#reader loves loki

[thedarkcoven]

Loki Request

Minors DNI! 18+ content ahead!! Warnings!  Smut. PinV. Unprotected sex. Jealous Loki. Some bdsm themes. Misunderstandings. Mutual pining. Cursing/dirty talk. Confession of feelings. Public sex ;) “Dub con- aka Loki is “forceful” but reader wants it” (Sorry it took a bit <3 Loves yooooooou!!! Thank you so much for the request! I hope you enjoy! @aizawasecretlover) @charmed-asylum​ @pimosworld​

You've been friends of Thor and Loki for years now. Just recently you had confessed feelings to Thor and that is how the misunderstanding between you and Loki started. He became distant. Cold. Rude. He treated you like any other woman around Asgard. He was tired of it and was at his last straw... especially when he had to go to Thor's chambers to ask him a question and say you giggling while talking with his blonde brother, your dainty hand resting on Thor's bicep as it flexed in the middle of him telling you a story.  Loki's jaw clenched as his raven locks fell forward slightly, his green velvet cloak swooshing behind him as he turned just as you caught sight of the emerald fabric. By the time you turned to say your greetings to him, he was already gone. Anger taking hold of him. You let out a sigh, your heart and smile dropping. Thor noticed and placed a caring hand on your shoulder. "Dear Y/N. Please forgive my brother. He can be a bit much.” “I know, Thor. Its just... I care so much about hima nd I don’t know how to confess my feeligns. I just... I don’t know.” You replied softly, letting out a small sigh.  “Go. Talk to him.” Thor chuckled while nudging you playfully. “Do not keep the God of Mischieft waiting.”  When you entered Loki’s chamber there were in shambles. Items laying on the floor, papers scattered everywhere, and Asgardian wine spilled. Your stomach dropped when Loki’s vision landed right on you as he glared at you from over his shoulder. He was breathing heavily, his raven locks a mess. You swallowed as he turned and began stalking towrd you as if you were some sort of prey for the taking.  “You..” He was on you in a flash. Gripping a large handful of your hair as he pulled you toward his giant bed.  The emerald plush was soft against your heated skin as he pushed you down into the mattress, pinning you down with one hand while shoving your silky Asgardian gown up toward your waist. He looked as if he were an animal in heat. Taking his prize that he so deprately needed. Green magic began to glow as he waved his hand. Golden ropes appeared around your wrists and were fastened to the golden pillars of his bed.  Before you could protest Loki slammed his lips into yours causing a metalic taste in your mouth. Your eyes flutter closed as he deepens the kiss, his large firm hands gripping your thighs before he unlaced his leather pants. In one swift motion he slid his hard length inside of you. A groan left you as you felt it twitch signaling its eagarness just for you.  “Thor thinks he’s going to steal you from me? You’re mine.” Loki growled, pulling out until he was almost completely out before slamming his hims back into yours causing your mouth to fall open in a silent scream.  “Lo-Loki!”  Loki froze slightly. His name falling from your sweet lips set the fire ablaze that burned slowly inside of him. That need and craving he so desprately needed fulfilled. Now it was going to be his duty to make sure that is all you would do. Singing his name on the top of your lungs like a praise just for the God of Mischief himself.  “What was that my sly minx?” He asked slamming his hips roughly into yours, gripping your hips in a death grip.  “Loki, please!!” “Please what?” He teased rolling his hips slower into yours, drawing out a long needy moan from you.  “Please don’t stop.” You whimpered, pulling his head down until your lips met into a passionate kiss.  Your cries rang through the golden halls of the Asgardian palace making maidens and guards alike turn red and turn heel the other way. When Thor heard your cries a giant smirk appeared on the blondes face as he popped a grape into his mouth, staring out onto the beautiful scenery of the kingdom below.  “Finally.” Thor said to himself. “Maybe now brother will stop being to moody.”  ~~~~~ Loki held you in his arms after cleaning you and making sure you were alright. Your breathing back to normal as you listened to the soft thrum of his heartbeat. Your bodies covered in a sheen of sweat. You smile softly but something was still chewing away at your mind. You lifted yourself slightly so you could look down at him, your eyes meeting his verdant eyes.  “Did you really think Thor and I were-.” When Loki looked away with a rosy hue on his pale cheeks you began to smirk. “Oh, Loki... I was spending so much time with him because I-... I wanted advice on how I could tell you how I felt about you. I love you, Loki.”  Loki’s head snapped toward you, his eyes glistening as his beautiful heart stopping smile spread across his face, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes appearing and making your heart stutter.  “You do? I love you too, my love. So much. You have no idea how happy this makes me feel. I feel like the happiest god in this vast universe. I will love you until my dying breath and even in Valhalla I shall keep loving you for you are my purpose.” 

[connorsui]

Strong-looking vulnerable men......Strong-looking vulnerable men.

You know the type. Big hands, big shoulders, could probably bench-press a car, but the moment they sit down, they look like they’re carrying the weight of the whole damn universe. Eyes that are just a little too soft for a face that sharp. Like, are you okay? Do you need a hug? Do you want to cry into my arms for three hours?

They look like they could destroy you, but deep down, you know they'd rather let themselves break first. What is it about them? Why do they look like they could hold you together when they’re clearly held together with duct tape and desperation? It’s unhinged. It’s unfair. I want to fix them. Or maybe I want to fall apart with them. I don’t even know anymore.

I love them so much they make me lose myself

AAAAAAHHHHHH

[actually-mentally-ill]

[lokisangelxoxo]

I don’t want to fix him … I want him just the way he is … 💭💚

Credit to Pinterest xx

[red-bullqueen88]

The feeling of his hot breath over my chest as he whispers of how he loves me and my body.

I didn't know what the feeling of man felt like until I felt him, the feeling of being able to be fucked and made love to at the same time.

I couldn't bear to be apart from him in any way.

It was like I was addicted to him, he was ecstasy, the feeling of alcohol that burned down your throat, you hated the taste but loved the way it made you feel.

- xoxo 💋

[slasherslittlesimp]

Cursed (Avengers X Reader)

Series Masterlist

Part Seven

You walk hand in hand with Wanda to the dining room where the others have gathered for dinner. Your nerves grow with each step but you try your best to remain calm and keep your face from showing just how scared you are. You know the chances of them hating you are slim yet after so long of being met with nothing but violence and hatred it's almost impossible to expect anything else.

Rounding the corner, you're met with silence as the group composed of mostly strangers stares at you. You subconsciously move closer to Wanda, seeking out her comfort. Back at Hydra you used to have a main caretaker that you would latch onto but he disappeared after less than a year. Now you find yourself acting the same way with a woman you just met just because she offered to be there for you.

Steve clears his throat, shooting you a reassuring smile after glaring at the others at the table as if mentally scolding them. Your eyes flicker over the familiar faces first as Wanda leads you to the table and unfortunately you find that the two open seats are next to people you haven't seen yet. You try not to panic as Wanda has you sit down next to the one with dyed hair while she sits next to a man who didn't look human.

"Do not worry, маленькая кукла. He is my brother Pietro. I promise you can trust him." Her voice is soft as she speaks barely above a whisper, just loud enough for you to hear her. You barely know her, but for some reason you feel as if you can trust her with your life. So when she tells you that you can trust her brother, you believe her.

"It was Clint's turn to make dinner so I hope you like spaghetti, kid." Tony chirps up from his spot at the end of the table. Your gaze flickers to him as he holds up his fork that has noodles swirled around it, as if showing you how to eat the meal. You appreciate the gesture since you more than likely would've made a fool out of yourself otherwise.

You take a second to watch a few others to see the way they eat the food before attempting it yourself. It's unsurprising that it takes you more than one try before you successfully manage to twirl the saucy noodles around your fork. Pausing, you mentally prepare yourself to eat not only a new food but also your first real meal. You're so lost in your own thoughts that you fail to notice everyone watching you as you finally take your first bite.

In all honesty, the meal is basic and lackluster but to you it tastes like heaven. Your first warm meal. Your first time eating with other people. Your first time feeling safe. It's almost overwhelming but you manage to keep from showing your growing emotions as you focus entirely on eating. Seeing as it's your first time eating real food, it's not that shocking that you barely manage to clear half of your plate before you start to feel a bit sick.

"Did you enjoy the food?" Wanda questions you, a small smile on her lips. You nod, wanting to smile in return to make the answer more convincing but your lips refuse to move from their neutral state. "I'm glad. Perhaps next time it's my turn to cook you can help me. Cooking is a great way to take your mind off of things."

"Wanda is an excellent cook." Her brother Pietro finally talks which makes you stiffen a bit. If he noticed he doesn't show it. "She is the perfect person to learn from. You will be master chef in no time."

Wanda seems embarrassed of her brothers praise as her cheeks flush in color. Unfortunately before anything else can be said, a strange robotic voice echoes throughout the room. You know that it's Friday, the AI that had been mentioned but suddenly hearing it still makes you jump a bit.

"Sir, Director Fury is here. He is waiting for you in conference room C."

"Well, that's my que." Tony stands up as he claps his hands together. You all watch as he exits the room and you turn to Wanda with a questioning look.

"Director Fury is basically the boss. He's in charge of missions and such." She places her hand on your shoulder. "If you're finished with dinner, why don't we go to the common room and watch a movie?"

You agree with her despite having no real idea what a movie is. The two of you head into a different room filled with couches and chairs, a few of the others following after you. Wanda leads you over to a two person couch, pulling you to sit down beside her. 

Glancing around the room, you look at who else decided to join in. Steve sits in a chair by himself, paper in hand as he writes something down. Natasha and Clint sit down on another two seater, sharing a bowl filled with something that smells quite good. Pietro sits on the floor in front of his sister, leaning back against her legs. Everyone else is spread out randomly besides Bruce and Tony who are busy with other things.

The group spends some time arguing over what type of movie to watch. They're all calling out different words but you have no idea what's going on. None of them can seem to agree so in the end they tell Friday to play something random. 

Despite it being potentially your first movie ever, you don't pay much attention to it. Instead you focus on the others, watching their reactions to what's happening on the screen. Every now and then they'll laugh at something said or done or they'll cheer when there's a fight scene. To you, they seem a lot more interesting than whatever movie is playing. 

Out of nowhere the movie pauses, making Clint boo as he throws a handful of small puffed food at the screen. Friday apologizes for stopping the movie before explaining why she did. "Mr. Stark has requested that (Y/N) joins him in conference room C."

Wanda stands up, taking your hand in hers as she pulls you from the couch. You forgot that your name is apparently (Y/N) so you hadn't realized they were talking about you. The others wish you luck as you're dragged from the room as Wanda takes you to where you need to go. You have no idea why you're being summoned but you can only hope that it's nothing bad.

Taglist: @desiree-lee @seventeen-x @svtbpbts @that-b-word-lol @keshet2k @cl0u-dy @randoes-world @nynxtea @cinnamoroll-things @emily2003alzaga @cookiemonstermusic258 @qardasngan @ashhlsstuff @worthless-wordvomit @anonymoustext @strawberryasmine

[maeintree]

blushes and bruises | l. laufeyson

Summary: Loki never cared for Midgardian traditions—least of all Valentine’s Day. But when the God of Mischief finds himself enamored with the Avengers' beloved nurse, he begins to question everything he thought he knew about affection. Pairing: avengers!Loki x nurse!fem!Reader Word Count: 1.2k Author's Note: made a valentine's day fic! i know it's a little early and i literally just posted.. a few hours ago? and i love brotherly banter. what can i say? i love writing. hope you enjoy this one lovies!

Loki had never been one for sentimentality. He prided himself on being logical, composed, and above all, untouchable. Yet, when it came to you, he found himself unraveling in ways he could not comprehend.

It had started subtly—at least, that’s what he told himself.

A passing glance that lingered too long, an inexplicable urge to listen when you spoke, an unwillingness to look away when you laughed. That laugh—light, melodic, effortless—had a way of sneaking into the darkest corners of his mind, lingering long after you had left the room.

You were different from the others. There was no fear in your gaze when you looked at him, no wary glances or hushed whispers behind his back. Instead, you regarded him as if he were just another person, as if he hadn’t once tried to claim dominion over Midgard.

It was infuriating.

It was intoxicating.

He caught himself watching you far more often than he should, drawn to the warmth you exuded, to the way you moved through the Tower as if you belonged among gods and warriors alike. And perhaps, in some ways, you did.

The others adored you, their affections apparent in the way they sought you out for comfort, for care. Even Thor, his ever-boisterous brother, held you in high regard.

Thor had always been perceptive when it came to his brother, and lately, he had noticed something rather amusing. Loki, the ever-composed God of Mischief, had developed an irritatingly obvious habit—his gaze lingered on you more often than it should. Whether you were speaking, laughing, or merely passing by, Loki's eyes would track your every move, and Thor, being the loving older brother that he was, found endless entertainment in this revelation.

One afternoon, as the two brothers sat in the common room, Thor leaned closer to Loki with a knowing smirk. "Brother.. I do believe you have taken quite the liking to our dear healer."

Loki barely spared him a glance, feigning disinterest as he continued reading. "You are insufferable."

Thor chuckled, undeterred. "Admit it, Loki. You fancy her. I have seen the way you look at her."

Loki’s grip on his book tightened. "Ah, so this is what your royal tutor meant when he spoke of speaking fiction and succumbing to delusions.. you see nothing."

"That was only one time, and, ah, but I do! You, my dear brother, are smitten." Thor grinned, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You watch her like a lovesick pup. It is quite adorable, really."

Loki shot him a venomous glare. "If you value your teeth, I suggest you cease this ridiculous—"

At that moment, you entered the room, completely oblivious to the conversation taking place. You greeted them with a smile, a soft "Hello, Thor. Loki," before continuing down the hall.

The second Loki caught sight of you, his frustration boiled over. Without thinking, his fist swung—directly into Thor’s face.

"Oof!" Thor reeled back, clutching his mouth. "Brother! That was uncalled for!"

You turned at the commotion, eyes widening as you rushed over. "Thor, are you okay?"

Loki, ever the quick thinker, straightened and cleared his throat. "Yes, well… he was choking on a piece of food. I was simply assisting him."

Thor shot him a bewildered look. "I was not—"

Loki elbowed him sharply, offering you a smooth, collected nod. "See? Crisis averted."

You blinked at them before shaking your head with a small smile. "Alright, if you say so. Just try not to kill each other."

As you walked away, Loki crossed his arms smugly, while Thor glared at him, rubbing his jaw. "Oh, you are well and truly doomed."

Valentine’s Day in the Avengers Tower was always a spectacle. The team found ways to celebrate, whether through grand gestures or friendly banter, and this year was no exception. Heart-shaped decorations had mysteriously appeared in the common room, and Tony had been on a mission to outdo himself with extravagant gifts for everyone.

Loki, however, found himself feeling out of place amid all the festivities. Despite being allowed to roam freely within the Tower, he still felt like an outsider.

The concept of Valentine’s Day was foreign to him—another Midgardian tradition that seemed needlessly sentimental.

And yet, there was something about it that intrigued him. Or rather, someone.

You.

The team adored you, and for good reason. As a nurse who had been working with them for quite some time, you had a warmth and kindness that made even the most guarded of them feel at ease. Even Loki, with all his sharp wit and cold exterior, found himself drawn to you in ways he couldn’t explain.

He hadn’t meant to grow attached. He had fought it, convinced himself that it was nothing more than fleeting curiosity. But every time he found himself in your presence—whether it was a passing conversation in the infirmary, a fleeting glance across the room, or the way you always seemed to see right through him—it became harder to deny.

Which was why he was currently pacing in the hallway outside the infirmary, muttering to himself as he tried to form the right words.

Thor had told him—rather enthusiastically—that Valentine’s Day was a time for mortals to confess their affections. It was a day for lovers, for gestures of devotion, for warmth.

Loki scoffed at the notion, yet here he was, battling the unfamiliar weight of uncertainty in his chest.

When he finally gathered the courage, he stepped inside, clearing his throat to get your attention. You looked up from your work, a warm smile instantly gracing your lips.

“Loki,” you greeted. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

He hesitated, shifting his weight slightly. He had practiced this. Rehearsed the words over and over again in his mind. And yet, standing before you, they seemed to abandon him entirely.

“I… I was informed that today is a day where… gestures of affection are exchanged.”

You raised an amused brow. “That’s one way to put it.”

He exhaled sharply. “Yes, well. I… was considering if, perhaps, you would…” He trailed off, frustration flashing across his face as he rubbed his temple. He loathed this. The vulnerability, the uncertainty, the way his pride and fear warred within him.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered. “Forget I said anything.”

You couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped you. The mighty Loki Odinson, reduced to fumbling over his words like a nervous schoolboy? It was endearing.

“Sure, Mr. Odinson,” you replied easily, your eyes twinkling with amusement. “I’d love to.”

Loki’s gaze snapped to yours, as if he hadn’t expected such an easy answer. He searched your face for any sign of mockery, but all he found was genuine warmth. For a moment, he simply stared, his lips parting slightly before pressing them together again.

“…Right,” he finally said, straightening. “Well then.”

You shook your head fondly. “Come on, Prince of Mischief. I think you owe me a Valentine’s date.”

For the first time in a long while, Loki allowed himself to smile—a real one.

The date itself was surprisingly pleasant—dinner on the Tower’s balcony, candlelight flickering between you. Loki, despite his usual skepticism toward Midgardian customs, had gone through the effort of making the evening special. And just as the night seemed to settle into something warm and comfortable…

The Avengers walked in.

Or rather, Tony led the charge, with Steve and Natasha in tow. “Okay, tell me this isn’t borderline ‘back in the cell’ behavior?” Tony deadpanned, before Steve elbowed him.

“Let the man court in peace, Stark,” Thor grumbled.

Tony clapped Loki on the back. “I'm watching you, Edgelord Supreme.”

Loki groaned. You just laughed.

honestly really wanted to make him flustered out considering i have a headcannon where girls usually fawn over him and he takes it so he didn't really have to ask someone out, ehhh love soft!loki aha

likes, comments, and reposts are much appreciated! hope you enjoyeddd.

[unnatural-happenings]

Got an idea for a Batfam x Reader x Avengers (+ Loki cause it's my fantasy and I can do what I want) fic that I haven't been able to get out of my head, so I'm throwing it to the ether.

(I actually wrote something for this here!)

You are a member of the Batfam—a blood child of Bruce Wayne's, and makes him a bit more overprotective of you then others. After a while the protectiveness bleeds into the rest of the family, doesn't matter if you're a vigilante or not, and it annoys you greatly. Though since it comes from a place of care you let it go for the most part.

Even though they grow more protective as time goes on, on the odd occasion they'll let you leave without one of them acting as your bodyguard (You bargained with Tim to let you leave without surveillance, as long as he got to call whenever he wanted). They still understood that you needed your own space.

By chance, during one of the few trips you had out of Gotham you run into Loki. To your surprise you hit it off pretty well. Now every time you have the chance to leave Gotham you meet up with Loki, which eventually leads to you meeting Thor, then the rest of the Avengers. Within time, you've basically made them your second home, and they've unofficially attached to the group. Like a favourite distant relative they wish would come by for more than just holidays.

They're far less suffocating then the Bats, and come with far less expectations. They don't treat you like a damsel in distress like you're family or act like you're only a pretty face for the Wayne's like the public. You can be yourself without feeling like a hindrance.

You get along well with everyone, but especially Tony and Loki. Tony occasionally prods you for WayneTech secrets, and he never lets you in the lab, but he's always there for you. Loki is a bit of the opposite. He isn't always at the compound, but when he is he drags you to wherever he's going. He also brings you into all of his schemes, but for putting up with him, he willingly goes along with yours.

For a while, you think this is as good as it's going to get. You stay with your family for a while and spend as much time as you can with them, but when the stress of galas, their vigilante careers, and the suffocation of their overprotectiveness becomes to much, on a free day you visit the Avengers. You're content with how things are.

That is, until Damian comes into the picture.

Despite being younger than you, he's not babied nearly as much as you are. You understand it probably has to do with his assassin background, but it still feels completely unfair and you can't take it anymore.

When you go to confront Bruce, it leads to a full blown argument. It only gets more and more heated when other family members get roped in until everyone's picked a side. Bruce realizes this is no way to have a proper discussion and wants to put a pause on it to come back to it later with a level head, but he expresses himself so terribly that you think he's just being dismissive.

You storm off to your room, quickly putting into motion plans to leave undetected. The manor starts to feel extremely confining—like it was becoming a gilded cage, so you want to escape to the only place you've carved for yourself completely separated from the Bats. The Avengers.

Once everyone is has either gone home, is out on patrol, or fast asleep, do you leave the manor. The only thing you leave behind announcing your departure, are the letters you left in the rooms of those that sided with you.

You leave behind everything easily traceable, and take the necessary precautions to keep yourself off the radar. Even if you aren't a vigilante, you've been taught how to conceal your tracks. Due to their protectiveness, everyone in the family has taken the time to further teach you stealth and ways to evade/escape confrontation in general.

You arrive at the compound in the dead of night and FRIDAY let's you without contest. You expect to be sitting alone until morning, but are pleasantly surprised when Tony shows up. He's covered in grime, clearly having just left the lab, but makes fun of you for looking like shit.

He doesn't ask what's wrong, he doesn't need to, and instead takes your mind off of it by filling it with mindless chatter. Soon he pushes you into his lab to help him also ignore his sleep schedule. The next day when the rest of the Avengers are made aware of your arrival, you're happily welcomed and allowed to stay for as long as you want. A few constantly ask if you'd stay permanently, and it's gone on for so long you can't tell if it's a joke anymore.

Meanwhile the Batfam is a mess.

They didn't find out you were gone until they come back from patrol. One of the siblings that got a letter finds it while pacing in their room. Then they start looking everywhere for you and realizes you're actually gone. The rest of the family gets involved, but those that have a letter don't inform anyone about it. One, because you told them not to and two, because they respect your sense of agency even if they hate it.

Then the rest of the fic flips between how you're doing with the Avengers and how the Batfam are handling the situation. You have so much fun with the Avengers, but your mind obviously keeps wandering back to your family. Every time it does you're left a mess of emotions until you push it all aside to deal with another day. The Bats are a mix between waiting impatiently for you to come back, trying to come to terms with their protectiveness, and arguing over if they should be looking for you or not.

[polarisbibliotheque]

Hey Polaris, hope this helps as a vent piece:

Anger is one of the main traits of demons. Everyone's anger has manifested outward at least some point yet, one person keeps it under Heavy lock and key, Dante.

One day, the anger manifests in its destructive, gruesome and targeted anger in his Sin Devil Trigger as it manifests when that last patient strand snaps.

So here's the prompt:

As Reader wakes up from a hard hit, once fully back to full consciousness, they witness that destructive rage that Dante kept under lock and key. Nearby, Vergil is protectively standing in front of Reader but something's wrong, his hands quivering as he keeps Yamato out in front of him. The real question now pops into Reader's head, how do you calm to a blazing inferno that's unrestrained and now in full swing?

Dante going on a full Sin Devil Trigger rampage (or, very angry Dante)

Pairing: Dante x Reader

Summary: Vergil wasn't one to fear easily - but one thing he would always dread to see; and that would be Dante losing his humanity.

Trigger Warning: Reader stops breathing and is seemingly dead for a while. Lots of blood, lots of anger, lots of self-loathing on this one (they all need therapy)

Author's Note: Oh boy, this was a conversation I was having with dear Fury: how Dante is 10/10 the scariest when he's mad because he keeps his demon on a leash *cough* Subhuman *cough* and he's the one everyone should fear when going berserk, not Vergil. With all the requests I'm having, currently, Fury decided to leave this suggestion out until I had a little more time to write...

Fast forward a few weeks, I'm having issues with a couple of ~friends~ and, honestly, I haven't been this angry in years. To the point of trembling, laughing like a maniac, and wanting to fistfight the gods. Hence, Fury sent me this vent piece so I could satisfy my wrath in a more ~healthy~ way. Hope you guys like it, though, Dante needs a big ol' hug and someone to openly cry too, not just Vergil.

Again, they all need therapy

Not many things could stir fear in Vergil’s heart.

Mundus’ voice, silently taunting him in the back of his head, the memory of everything he had been through in Hell was one of those things. The other one was his twin’s fury.

It was a rare thing for him to grip Yamato with an unsteady pair of hands, putting a lot of effort and strength for them not to tremble – but the sight of Dante completely lost in his bloodlust was not to be trifled with.

The first time Vergil saw it with his own eyes was in Hell, when he and his brother spent a considerable amount of time to cut down the Qliphoth. Vergil was used to the taunts of demons and Dante was as well… Or at least he should be, at that point in their lives.

But the taunts were many. They had been running through the fields of fire without sleep for a couple of days – in the human world, probably, as time had a different flow in Hell – killing everything in sight; and hearing every kind of putrid taunt they could.

What made Dante snap, though, was a simple implication: that it was Dante’s fault that Vergil fell and got subdued by Mundus, suffering endless nightmares for years to come. A strange glint sparked in Dante’s eyes at that moment. The scream that rumbled in his chest was enough to be heard through many layers of Hell.

It wasn’t Dante’s fault, Vergil knew that very well. He had refused to hold his brother’s hand, there was nothing Dante could have done. It was Vergil’s choice, and his sin only. But… For the first time, he saw how much his brother blamed himself for that. How much Dante had suffered, all those years, alone in the human world.

As above, so below… Dante suffered alongside Vergil all those years.

And all of that because of a stupid, childish decision from Vergil’s part. He observed Dante in shock as that realization came down on him – and as he watched the prized human heart of his twin brother seemingly disappear, giving place to a blind, bloodthirsty demon in full Sin Devil Trigger fashion, killing everything in his path.

Vergil stayed away from the destruction, always keeping an eye on his brother… If he could call him that. Dante – the foolish, laidback, talkative, jack of all trades, witty and quippy brother he knew – seemingly was nowhere to be seen. He was gone, and everything left was his demon, with a never-ending thirst for blood.

Not that Vergil hadn’t had moments like those, but he was always alone. He would always find the end of his rage on the floor, exhausted, weak and cold. And so, he waited for Dante’s wrath to wear off – patiently, observing with a heavy heart, sorrow and guilt.

He didn’t enjoy seeing his brother like that.

That was the reason why, when Nico put to vote who was the scariest when angry, you threw your vote at Dante. You and the rest of the crew, except for the Spardas, decided to have a night out at a local diner, just to wind down and have a bit of fun – that sort of talk was a given when you were together.

“Dante, really?” Lady raised one of her eyebrows, staring at you with nothing but doubt in her multicolored eyes. “He can’t hurt even a fly!” When she said that, though, all of the eyes of the group turned at her in disbelief. “Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been hunting with him for a while. Dante can be a weapon of mass destruction, but he just… He doesn’t have that heart.”

“Hmmm… I think I have to agree with you on that one.” Trish slowly stirred her chocolate milkshake as Lady thanked with a sip of her vanilla one. “Look, I saw him killing Mundus. I saw Dante fighting the greatest and worst of Hell. He can be dangerous, but his human heart doesn’t let him be scary.”

“That is exactly my point.” You were ready to defend your thesis like a lawyer at court.

“Then why the hell would you vote for him as the scariest?” Nico didn’t have a cigarette on her hands because she had been forbidden to smoke inside the diner, but if she had, she would have been pointing at you with it. “Big flamin’ demon got nothin’ on Vergil, that one’s got the eyes of a killer. Got you chillin’ just by lookin’ at you.”

“Vergil doesn’t control his anger that much – I go as far as saying he doesn’t control himself as much as Dante.” And with those words, you won all the shocked looks you could at that evening. You would count that as a feat. “Is Dante a fool of a Tûk, as my dear Gandalf would say? Yes, he is. Is Vergil a walking death omen? Yes, he also is. But, I have talked to him about Dante being angry, and Vergil gave me enough hints to make it very clear Dante doesn’t let all his feelings out – he chooses to pass as a very aloof himbo of a man, but he is far from that. I’ve been his partner for enough time to say I agree with Vergil.”

“You might have a point.” Kyrie took a sip of her strawberry milkshake, as you let a triumphant smile take over your lips. “Dante might be playful, but we all know he has very deep emotions underneath that. It’s just like with Nero and his punk attitude.”

“But instead, he’s a cinnamon bun on the inside.” Nico topped Kyrie’s phrase, provoking some laughs on the group. That was the most accurate description of Nero if you had ever seen one.

“Dante loves his human heart, but he has a certain beef with his demonic one.” You wouldn’t say to the whole group you went as far as to believe he actually loathed his demonic heritage, as that was something too personal, but you had a hunch they all had some suspicions of that deep inside. “He keeps it in check, hidden, tamed. He lashes out when it’s a good time to do so – when fighting demons.” As you started getting some hums of agreement, you sneakily took Trish’s milkshake. “We have never seen Dante actually angry. And I don’t think we ever will.”

“Oh, now you’re makin’ it difficult.” Nico had to ponder those words, even if she couldn’t really see Dante being as dangerous as you said.

“Eh, not for me. I’m still going with Vergil.” Lady shrugged, firm on her opinion as always.

You took a little longer to get to the final vote – discussing what you had just said, as Trish called you out for stealing her milkshake and having it back, only to share it with you – but the answer was almost unanimous: the scariest one on a fit of wrath was Vergil.

Almost, because you kept adamant in voting on your red devil.

Vergil never came to know about all of that, but if he did, he would have agreed with you – not publicly, as he would hold his new title with pride, always content on inspiring fear as a way to keep himself and his loved ones protected. He would, however, agree with you privately, remembering Dante’s display of wrath in Hell.

That was the reason why his hands trembled on Yamato during your latest hunt together – the one where everything went wrong.

If only you would wake up. Maybe he could save Dante’s soul.

It all happened so fast, Vergil didn’t even see how things ended the way they were at the moment. On one second you were fighting by their side, on the other, you were tossed on the floor, soaked in your own blood, chest immobile. Not breathing.

“Y/n! No, y/n!” It was the very first time Vergil saw Dante dropping everything to run towards you. His brother let go of his sword, ignored all demons around and ran as if you were the only being in that godforsaken place. Vergil had to put himself between him and the demons, keeping them at bay as Dante quickly made his way to you. “Y/n! C’mon, babe! Y/n!”

Dante’s knees hit the floor with a loud thud as he dropped all his weight by your side – not feeling anything at the moment, but it would certainly leave a couple of horrid bruises. As his sky-blue eyes met that harrowing sight, desolation filled his face; Dante forgot how to breath for a split second, barely feeling his very own hands, legs tingling as his body seemed to sink in the ground even further.

Vergil stated the very same thing his brother did – and he never thought he could feel that way with the thought of losing you; but there was Vergil, with numbness on his fingers and a sickness in his stomach. You were the little light that Dante had found in his life, one of the only good things that had happened to him during all his damned years of living. Vergil knew how important you were, how only you could make Dante smile with a sincerity he only had seen when they were kids. What would be of his brother – his foolish, stupid, beloved brother – if he lost you to demons as well…?

The answer would come very soon, but not without a fight from Dante’s side.

“C’mon, y/n, open your eyes…!” Dante’s voice trembled, in a way Vergil had never listened to before. He watched as his twin brother desperately tried to bring you back, heavy hands massaging your chest, followed by breathing inside your mouth, and repeating once more. “C’mon, babe… Don’t leave me here…!” Those words were a whisper as he trembled trying to make your heart beat again, giving his breath to you once more so you could also breathe.

The realization washed Dante’s body as a cold wave, as he slowly felt he wasn’t in his body anymore – his body feeling your weight on his hands, but his soul completely out. Maybe flying away to meet yours wherever you were.

But then, a twisted symphony of distorted cackles and mockery ripped through his ears – the realization also came to the demons, and now they gloated with their first victory. Not only that, but humiliated the son of Sparda for losing his own beloved just like his father had lost Eva.

Vergil was ready to unsheathe Yamato and unleash all his fury to cut those demons in million pieces for that lack of respect – and to allow his brother to mourn properly. He himself had to mourn: you were too precious at the Devil May Cry for Vergil not to feel your loss.

But he wouldn’t need that. A deep growl grabbed the Dark Slayer’s attention, making him immediately turn to his brother. Dante got up from the floor with nothing but rage in his eyes bleeding tears, bare teeth as his demonic heritage boiled to rip through his skin and unleash all its fury on his enemies.

If only Dante had waited a single second, he would have realized what Vergil did. He would have heard a faint heartbeat – trembling, but fighting to survive. He would have seen your broken body trying to breath underneath the blood.

Dante killed the first demons with their own weapons, running towards his sword with a scream that only grew in strength. Vergil kneeled by your side, checking your pulse on your neck, staining his hands with your blood but stating what made his heart beat faster: you weren’t lost. Dante had to know.

The floor rumbled. As Vergil turned his attention towards Dante, he immediately turned back to you to protect you with his body. Dante’s scream thundered through the floor, as if it came from the deepest pits of Hell itself – and a thousand degrees exploded in sparks and molten lava as his Sin Devil Trigger took the place of the man who stood there before.

Vergil was used to the flames of Hell, they would not hurt him. But he wasn’t used to the wrath of his brother – and that might be something none of you would be able to recover. Vergil could take the heat of the explosion that took down many demons in its wake, but your human body couldn’t – and that was the reason why he had to do everything in his power to protect you.

Those silvery eyes turned back at Dante, still keeping a protective arm above you. Usually predatorial, now Vergil had nothing but worry in his gaze, watching with desolation as his brother became the bloodthirsty ruthless demon he never was.

In that state, Dante could make mistakes. He could hit you without even realizing. A misplaced use of his power, a wrong swing of his blade, another explosion of million degrees into hellish flames… Vergil could survive, not you. And, if Dante, who hadn’t realized yet you weren’t lost as he thought you were, ended up being the real reason of your demise…

Vergil didn’t even want to think what would happen.

For all he could see at that moment was a demon fiercely fighting other demons – or, better yet, easily subduing and mercilessly slaughtering all of them. And that was something that was so intrinsic to Dante’s heart: his mercy. Having Dante without his mercy, his kindness, his gentleness, his love, was the same as not having him at all… That was the source of his power, like rage was the source of Vergil’s power.

Watching his brother lost in wrath was heart wrenching, but knowing it could get even worse if he was to completely lose his soul was even more harrowing. Dante’s eyes bled his pain, even in that form, as he soaked his whole self in the viscous blood of his enemies – a monster beyond salvation, a creature without a soul, a lover without a heart. A man with his fragile hope crashed into pieces, abandoning everything that made him who he was, to allow himself to find some comfort through burning his own wrath.

For the first time, it downed on Vergil his brother might not come back. If he lost you, if Dante fatally wounded you, Vergil would never have him again – for Dante would lose the very last brink of humanity inside of him; a brink that Vergil couldn’t even see at that moment and didn’t even know if it was still there. Dante’s eyes were red, his growls distorted and animalistic, his power… Greater than Mundus, greater than even Sparda.

If Dante approached, Vergil would have to fight him. His brother wasn’t in a leveled state of mind to see logic – and he could hurt you, even if Dante would never do that. With all that blind wrath, though, Vergil didn’t even know if his brother would answer if he called.

Holding Yamato with a stronger grip than usual, Vergil stood in front of your body, guarding you from whatever harm that could come your way – be it in demon form… Or in his own twin brother form.

The cold hand of fear, though, slowly crept into his heart and held it on its stark clutches. Yes, Vergil spent his whole life sparring with that fool he had to call his brother – hearing Dante’s taunts and impossible physics, as if he didn’t even make an effort to make Vergil look like a complete buffoon during the fight, no matter how much technique and skill he had – but never Vergil imagined not having that.

Having Dante was a given. Fighting him was a given. Bantering, arguing, sparring, behaving like the bickering old set of twin brothers that they were. Vergil could say he wanted to defeat Dante, but he never wanted to get rid of him. What would his life be without his stupid brother?

Empty. Silent. Cold. Devoid of color.

Dante couldn’t go. And, most of all, he couldn’t go by Vergil’s hands. But if he was too much of a lose canon, if he was too far gone in his demonic frenzy, Vergil would have to put a stop to it…

Like Dante did with him as Nelo Angelo so many years before.

Vergil had to hold the cry that seemed to want to force its way out of his throat – holding back the tears that now glistened in his eyes. He was the most foolish of all… He was responsible for putting Dante on the same situation he found himself in at the moment – and just now he understood how harrowing, how painful and how much of a hell Dante had to go through.

Alone. Just like Vergil was alone in Hell – as above so below, the twins mirroring each other’s fates, on their realms and heritage of preference.

They weren’t so different after all.

As you started to hear the chaos around you once again, your head was spinning viciously and the pain that spread inside your lungs made you think you were going to explode. With an almost inaudible moan, you felt tears streaming down your eyes as you tried to open them, seemingly inhaling blood and pain every time you tried to breathe. You could feel you were covered in something wet and sometimes sticky, but it took some time for you to raise a trembling hand in front of your barely focusing eyes to realize it was blood.

Were you dead…? What had happened…? You could barely remember. You didn’t even know what hit you: suddenly everything turned black and now you were feeling like a bulldozer went over your body and somehow you managed to survive. Perhaps you didn’t, but if you were dead, you wouldn’t be feeling that much pain… At least, that was what people always said that happened after departing from the human world.

Plus, you could still hear the demons – but now, screaming in fear and trying to run away from something that was growling in such an inhuman tone, you wondered if you guys had accidentally summoned something bigger. By the noise, it had to be. The likes of Mundus and the other Kings of Hell – Vergil being the smallest of them, but still as deadly.

Perhaps it was Vergil…? To be fair, though, he never went all out without a really good reason. Maybe he thought you were dead? He appreciated you as much as a brother would appreciate his twin’s partner, but you didn’t expect him to have such a visceral reaction to your death; Unless…

You widened your eyes as your whole body seemed to be washed by a cold wave followed by a lightening that made you tingle from head to toes. Your heart sunk in your chest and the painful breaths you tried before were all but gone. Vergil would have a visceral reaction if he lost his brother. And that, you couldn’t even fathom: life without Dante didn’t exist… Or, at least, it would be something you wouldn’t want to go through.

You forced your body up, slowly turning to one side and barely using your arm to keep your weight as you tried to see what was going on. You had to find him, you had to find Dante. You would crawl to his body, you would shake him around as you could, you would give him your breath, you would give him your soul – but you would try everything to bring him back. You would hold him as tight as you could, you would cry over him, and there wouldn’t be a living or dead thing in this world that would be able to part you from him.

You widened your eyes once more when you saw Vergil keeping your body as a guardian warrior and the source of the chaos and destruction was your beloved red devil – lost in a frenzy, dripping with blood, eyes melting like lava and nothing of human in them.

You had never seen Dante like that.

“Verge…” You tried to cough the word out, but it was nothing more than a dying whisper. You couldn’t see how the blue devil furrowed his brows, thinking he might be hearing things – until you allowed a harsher breath to hurt your lungs so you could try to raise your trembling voice higher. “Vergil…!”

He turned his head enough to see you in the corner of his eyes – doing his best to still keep Dante in his sight. A wave of euphoria washed through Vergil’s body as his hands seemed to get steadier around Yamato: he was right, you were alive. As the fighter you were, the survivor you were… You were breathing and doing your best to get back on your feet again.

“Y/n…” But he couldn’t even talk: the floor rumbled again and Vergil knew what was coming. You placed your hands on the ground, widening your eyes and furrowing your brows, having never felt that before.

For a split second, you caught a glimpse of what was going on: Dante harnessing his power, ready to explode. You had never saw that. You had never saw his eyes devoid of his humanity. You had never seen your Dante as a complete demon like it was happening at that moment.

And, something that you had never been conscious to witness, Vergil threw himself over you to protect your body from his brother’s wrath. You had to cower behind his frame, gripping Vergil’s coat lapel for dear life, but still feeling the burning of a thousand degrees engulf you.

The blue devil didn’t even waver – but both of you had something in your eyes… The dread of the harrowing knowledge that that was Dante. All that destruction, that chaos, that blood… It was all Dante.

You were right, after all. His rage was the scariest to see.

“I need t-…” Your voice was raspy, having to stop mid phrase to cough some more blood that needed to come out of your lungs. “I need to talk to him.” You tried to take a deep breath, but once again it just stopped with a harsh sting on your chest. “He needs to know I’m alive.”

“Hmmm.” Vergil agreed with his head, but you knew he was still pondering what you had said. He helped you up on your feet – doing more of the work than you, easily lifting your body with his strength. “Dante isn’t himself at the moment…” Again, Vergil stood in front of you like a guardian, gripping the Yamato with both hands as soon as he saw you could stand by yourself. If you faltered, though, he was quick enough to hold you. “You must keep that in mind.”

“I know… And I am scared.” You answered in a whisper, looking over Vergil’s shoulder only to see Dante mercilessly slaughtering the last unlucky demons. “But it’s still Dante.”

Vergil didn’t know what to do, if he was being honest with himself. He could have held you back and kept you safe, as his demonic side told him to do, but something inside told him he should let you do what you had to do. Those silvery eyes watched as you bravely walked in haste towards danger; towards hell and doom, ready to embrace it… And willing to make it stop.

“Dante! Dante, love!” You kept calling, but, as Vergil feared before, his brother didn’t respond. He was too far gone, too lost in Hell to come back that easily. Vergil followed your steps slowly, lingering like a shadow behind you… Ready to do whatever he needed to do if Dante’s demon didn’t even recognize you in that blind rage. “Dante! You can stop now… Dante!”

With all the filthy bloody corpses piling up on the floor, that flaming red-hot demonic figure slowly turned its head towards you. Covered in blood, sword dripping with red, molten lava eyes raining all its hollow pain. Expressionless, as he always was on his Sin Devil Trigger, made of fire and coal, hate and rage.

Did he recognize you…? Did he understand what was going on…? Vergil’s grip on Yamato got stronger, ready to unleash a blow on his brother in order to protect you. What you were doing was a gamble – and one with not so nice odds to you. There was a reason why Vergil let Dante’s anger wear out when they were in Hell: he knew there was a good chance Dante wouldn’t even recognize him at the height of his wrath, just like it happened with Vergil on those situations. So, to say the moment at hand was dangerous was a serious understatement.

But humans would always be fascinating, wouldn’t they…? At least, that was what Vergil thought. That towering demon with a flaming chest and leathery wings turned towards you, carrying his huge sword dripping with demonic blood, doing nothing but heavy breathing – and you decided to fearlessly walk towards it.

Humans.

Vergil kept his distance, watching it all unfolding with a weary heart and a trigger hand at ready to fight his brother – to death, if he unfortunately needed to – in order to protect you. He couldn’t have the certainty you had, as your steps kept going in Dante’s direction.

Your legs were shaking, your knees were trembling, but… It was your lover. It was Dante. No matter how much he was lost into his frenzy and wrath, you had to believe his heart would remember you. His soul. It all happened because he thought he had lost you, he had to come back upon knowing you were alright.

It didn’t matter how horrid his wrath looked like, you knew he was in there somewhere.

“Dante… It’s me, I’m alright…” Your voice was still a whisper, unable to speak too loud, but also trying to soothe the anger in his heart. You hesitantly reached out to him, making a growl rumble inside his chest and your steps stop for a while – with Vergil half-unsheathing his sword, ready to fight. “Love…” You called again, breathing as deeply as you could, resuming your walking and extending your hand towards him. “My Dante…”

You were finally at arm’s reach. Vergil held his breath, eyebrows furrowed, silvery predator eyes fixated on what was supposed to be his brother. You raised your hand higher, resting it on Dante’s face.

His Sin Devil Trigger form was nothing but rough. His skin seemed like hard leather and rocky coal, burning so hot it could almost hurt your hand. You wouldn’t back down though: compared to him, you were soft and cold, too fragile and breakable; but you wouldn’t leave. You caressed his rough face, fingers feeling the sharp teeth, the spiky crevices, the unwelcoming features of a face made in Hell.

You felt, though, an unlikely moisture reaching your fingers: a droplet, running from those fiery, empty eyes – those inhuman eyes. You looked at it running through your fingers to the back of your hand, looking back into those frightening eyes that had nothing of a soul in them…

But he was there, wasn’t he? It was him, a part of him that Dante always fought so relentlessly to keep hidden, to keep on a tight leash in the deepest corner of his self. You could see Dante in those eyes – and, as soon as that realization washed through the demon’s body, his head leaned into your hand.

With a flaming spark, the red devil was gone and you had the man back: tired, desolated, falling apart. Dante still leaned his head into your hand – now with soft skin, smooth lips, closed eyes and flowy white hair – almost like an animal that had never been touched with kindness in a whole lifetime. As he opened his eyes, you could see the redness of his tears crowning those sky-blue tones you always loved so much… And there was nothing but fragile vulnerable humanity in them.

“Hi, cowboy…” You whispered with a shadow of a smile on your lips, while your very eyes poured tears – you didn’t know what kind of tears, though, if of happiness, sadness, desperation, pity or love. Maybe all of them at the same time: it was inherently human to feel more than words could describe. You caressed his face as Dante himself started to pour all of his feelings out – this time, not in a fit of rage. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“I thought I lost you.” His coarse voice came through as if Dante had been weeks without speaking and his very own vocal cords were barely working. You didn’t doubt his body would be in pain after all he had been through during… That. “I thought… You were gone. I’d never see you again, you were… Like… Like…” Dante closed his eyes again, head hanging low. He could barely breathe as the words fought to get out of his chest and stop suffocating him. His tears hitting the floor while you took his hair out of the way so you could see his face – there was nothing but pain; a pain that hadn’t been healed since he was a child. “Like everyone in my damned fuckin’ life; those things… I thought they had extinguished… Your light, like everyone… Like everyone eventually does… By my side…”

That was rare. Very rare. Dante was very honest with his feelings and usually didn’t hide anything from you, but not to that point – the point where he would honestly and openly say how much he thought he was the thing that doomed everyone else who decided to live with him or be friends with him. That loathing he had inside his heart, that he hid so carefully, it wasn’t something he would say out loud – it was something you knew because you always understood him so well.

You let go of his hair and locked your arms around his large frame, resting your head on his chest – you could hear his heart beating, his human heart. Dante hesitated for the very first time in his life, keeping his arms by your side for a split second, his teary eyes shocked with your reaction.

After all, you had just seen his absolute worst. All the things he always smothered so much inside himself, keeping them on check, always so controlled. You had seen it in all its spiteful and horrid glory – and your reaction was to embrace him instead of running away. Dante expected you to run, it would honestly be the logic and most human thing to do after seeing all of that.

But you walked towards him with your heart beating in fear, touching his face to grab him out of the pit of wrath he was buried into, holding him tightly in your arms as he broke down in all his anger, misery, trauma and self-loathing.

It lasted a split of a second indeed – for soon Dante’s strong arms were wrapped around your fragile body, keeping you close and safe from harm… As well as having his face buried on your neck, crying all that smothered pain inside of his heart out. Your bodies were too exhausted to keep standing for too long – so when your knees wavered, Dante did the same and you kneeled on the floor, never letting go of each other; Dante holding you as tight as he could, promising himself he would never let go.

Vergil could finally put Yamato to rest. When they were in Hell, he allowed his brother’s rage to wear off while observing from afar. This time, he could do the same: guarding you and quietly keeping you both safe and sound.

A sad ghost of a smile graced the Dark Slayer’s lips as he calmly observed you. Maybe his brother was right after all, and he could only wish someday he would be as strong as Dante to carry such power.

A human heart.

[clandestineloki]

can you guess what musical inspired this lmfao (NSFW)

loki breaks away from the kiss, growling filthy praises as he fucks his cum back into you.

underneath the candlelit chandelier, she's trembling, and he relishes in the shy, dazed look on her face as his cock thrusts in and out of her twitching, dripping hole. shaky hands grab anywhere they can on his chest and back, and while he loves that she's too blissed out to even know what to do with herself, he can't have her losing her mind so early into the evening.

"fuck, you're perfect," he hisses, leaning down to capture her lips once more.

the nobility can't do anything but stare as he pulls her down tighter onto his lap, littering kisses all over her already marked neck as she whimpers out his name like a prayer. he gives them all a terrifying glare that freezes them all in place in spite of the debauchery happening before them.

"you all said she was incapable of giving me an heir," he hisses out. "well, she's doing a good fucking job taking it all right now, isn't she?"

loki flips her over, pressing a little kiss to the side of her hip as a silent apology for being so rough. but rough is all he can be when someone has sullied the name of his bride.

"maybe you rich scum need to remember who you're spitting this nonsense about."

he snakes a hand around her waist, pulling her up to her knees, her back against his bare chest. her eyes widen as she comes face to face with the men of the nobility.

loki smirks at her flustered expression, slowing his thrusts and holding her still against him, leaning in to drawl in her ear softly. "still with me, angel?"

"u-uhuh," she whines softly, trying to close her legs. but loki has none of that and gently traces two fingers over her spread, twitching folds. "ah- loki- they'll see-"

"let them see." he whispers darkly, and the lust in his voice makes her whimper and sink into his touch obediently; he rewards her with a little kiss to her nose.

he turns to their audience, and his voice becomes loud and commanding. "i couldn't care less if you respect me, but i suggest you respect the princess of asgard should you wish to keep your sorry heads."

his finger work their magic on her little bud and the wettest noises echo through the meeting hall along with her song-like sounds of pleasure. her eyes water from the intensity of the pleasure he's giving her with every inch of his being.

"l-loki-" she gasps. "s-so much-"

"i know," he chuckles, groaning in pleasure as her tight cunt milks him for all he's worth.

loki lifts his hand up to his mouth and licks her juices off his fingers. she hears a loud thump-- one of the nobles fainted in shock. and the elder next to him mumbles something about the new royals turning the palace into a brothel. big mistake.

the words are barely out of his mouth before an enchanted emerald dagger flies right into his heart and he doubles over, good as dead. the rest of their audience stares at his bleeding corpse in horror, thankfully not witnessing how for some twisted reason, that made her body warm and her eyes glaze over in lust.

oh gods, he just killed for me.

she scraems his name as her climax rains down on her at that exact moment, her cunt clenching helplessly and her body slumping against loki's as she orgasms for the nth time that night.

loki growls, holding her twitching form still against him as he breeds her full, his cum leaking out of her used little hole. he slips out of her, and pulls her into his lap, kissing her deeply to soothe the aftermath of their passion.

"i think they've seen enough," he whispers cockily, and she hides her face in his neck shyly. "maybe we could continue this without some leering old men in the equation~"

the nobility are snapped back to reality as loki comes down from the throne with her in his arms-- wrapped in his cloak with a dazed, blissed out look on her face, kicking the elder's body as he walks past it without a second thought.

he turns back around, and with a sinister green glow in his eyes, whispers the last words these pathetic men will hear, as the massive chandelier falls just above where the horrified nobility stand.

"this will teach the kingdom not to insult the royal family... especially the princess."

=======

A/N: yes im still alive im not a healthcare ceo lol

[flowersforthosewhoneeds]

Part 2 of "I wish it was me"

A God’s Indifference

You’d long since learned how to disappear quietly.

One polite excuse, one strained smile, and you slipped away from the gathering unnoticed except, of course, by yourself. Because no matter how hard you tried, the sound of Loki’s voice, smooth and measured, lingered long after you’d left. Lingered in a way that felt like punishment.

You could still picture him, reclining lazily beside her, that faint curl of his lips, eyes sharp with something unreadable. It never reached you. It never would.

Behind closed doors, you let yourself crumble.

The Tower lights dimmed to a hush outside, but inside your room, your thoughts roared like a storm. You pressed the heel of your hand to your chest, as if you could calm the ache.

"Foolish," you muttered to yourself. "You knew what you were to him."

Nothing.

Later.

The hallway was silent save for the softest footfalls. A knock precisely timed, deliberate broke the quiet.

“Open the door,” Loki’s voice came, low, clipped. Controlled.

You swallowed, forcing your voice to stay steady. “Why are you here, Loki?”

A pause. Then, his tone, sharp as a blade:

“Must I require a reason to knock on the door of one who flees without explanation?”

You hated the cold detachment. Hated that he spoke to you like you were a problem to be solved.

Still, something in you cracked open, and you unlocked the door.

He stood there, tall, composed, not a hair out of place—eyes gleaming with something dangerous, something distant.

His gaze swept over you once, dispassionately. “I find it curious,” he began, voice slow and deliberate, “that you remove yourself so easily. As if your presence here were entirely inconsequential.”

Your throat tightened. “It is.”

His jaw twitched, the only crack in his mask.

“You presume much,” he murmured, voice like velvet stretched taut. “You presume to know the thoughts of a god.”

You held his gaze, even though it burned. “You’ve made it clear, Loki. You don’t have to pretend concern.”

For a moment, there was silence. Heavy. Oppressive.

Then:

“Pretend?” He tilted his head, smile cold, eyes sharp like frost. “You overestimate your importance if you believe I concern myself with such trivialities.”

Each word cut clean, practiced. Like he’d said it a thousand times to a thousand people.

You felt your hands tremble but forced them still. “Then go back to her. She’s the one you care for.”

Something flickered in his eyes, gone too quickly.

He stepped closer, gaze boring into yours. His voice dropped lower—quieter, but no less cruel:

“You think me so simple, little mortal?” he whispered, almost a sneer. “That affection is given freely, like baubles, to anyone who catches my eye?”

Your chest tightened painfully. You didn’t speak.

He studied you for a heartbeat longer, then leaned in slightly, voice soft, cutting:

“I have no need for attachments. Least of all… ones like you.”

That broke something. You flinched, breath hitching but before you could retreat, his hand shot out, catching your wrist.

His grip was iron, but his voice was a whisper now barely controlled:

“Yet here I am.”

You met his gaze, and for a second, the mask slipped.

His eyes weren’t cold now. They were desperate.

“I have tried,” he murmured, voice roughened. “Tried to disregard you. To behave as though you are beneath notice.”

A pause. His next words like a confession dragged from between gritted teeth:

“And yet—every time you leave, it infuriates me.”

You swallowed, unable to breathe.

He leaned in further, close enough for his breath to ghost against your skin.

“It should not matter,” he whispered bitterly. “You should not matter.”

And then—without hesitation, without warning—he kissed you.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet. It was consuming, brutal, a kiss that felt like punishment as much as anything else. Like he hated himself for needing it.

And when he pulled away—eyes dark, jaw clenched—he spoke low, final:

“This does not make you special.”

He let go of your wrist, as if it burned him, turned, and walked away without another glance.

Leaving you there, shivering, hollowed out.

=============================

eheh stay tune for more ! sorry i havent been active lately but i promise i will make it up<3

@angelkat1013 @frog-fans-unite @tinytroublemaker

[whirlybirbs]

              —   BEYOND THE VOID    !

                             AO3     |     SPOTIFY     |     PINTEREST

a masterpost for the series by yours truly. it's thursday again. second part to the from the void, with love series. canon divergent, set during loki season 2 (2023). 

READ ME !  / in-progress

1.    the beginning of the end 2. (COMING SOON !)

SCROLL ME !

1. part 1: from the void, with love 2. prologue: the sacred timeline 3.   the variant timeline files 4.   the tag 5.   the god & the scientist 6.   fan art

[connorsui]

Men who only have a soft spot for... her

He’s a problem. A walking, talking... paradox of sharp edges and soft hands—except the soft is reserved for her and her alone. To the rest of the world, he’s all business: measured words, steady hands, a gaze that doesn’t waver. But the moment she walks into the room? His composure unravels, just a little. Enough for his fingers to twitch, for his breath to catch, for something unbearably fond to settle behind his eyes.

It’s... pathetic, really. He knows it. She could ask him for the world, and he’d set it at her feet without a second thought. Hell, she could ask him to kneel, and he’d do it. Not because she wants power over him—no, she doesn’t even realize what she does to him—but because she’s her. His undoing. His salvation. The only thing that makes this whole godforsaken life worth it.

He watches her across the room, the way she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the way she bites her lip in concentration, completely unaware of the fact that he’s starving for her. It’s not just want. It’s not even need. It’s something deeper, something that’s settled into his bones and taken root in his bloodstream.

She turns, catches him staring. Raises an eyebrow, amused.

“You good?”

Not even close. But he smirks, tugs at the knot of his tie like it’s strangling him. “Yeah, sweetheart. Just thinking.”

Thinking about how he’s never letting her go. About how she could walk him straight off the edge of the world, and he’d follow without hesitation. About how he’s already ruined for anyone else, because she’s it. The only light in his life, the only thing that makes him human.

And God help him, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[super-marvel-dc]

Y/N: *Doing a handstand while jumping up and down*

Loki, to Bucky: What the hell are they doing?

Bucky: They're having apple withdrawal symptoms...

Loki: I beg your pardon?

Bucky: Whenever they go without apples for a certain amount of time they bend themself up like a pretzel and do handstands.

Loki: Huh, odd...

Loki: *Conjures up an apple, and throws it at Y/N, hitting them in the head*

[actuallybean]

The Lakes*

In exile among wildflowers and silence, a goddess seeks to unbecome — until the god of mischief finds her sanctuary and asks, not for forgiveness, but for a place beside her in the stillness. *Contains sexual material: Minors DNI. Lots of fluff Inspired by "The Lakes" by Taylor Swift Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x Reader Tag list: @mostlymarvelgirl Marvel Masterlist | Main Masterlist

You left the golden halls behind. Left the sharp cut of court whispers, the burn of expectation pressed into your spine like a branding iron. You left the realm that raised you, and the gods who forged you into something divine — because all the power in the universe meant nothing without peace.

You found that peace on Midgard, in a forgotten pocket of land that even mortals had abandoned — wild and still, tucked between towering cliffs and the deep, glacial curve of a lake that mirrored the sky. No palace. No thrones. Just a small, weathered stone cottage covered in moss, a firewood stack beside the door, and the hush of wind through evergreens that sounded like a lullaby.

You told no one where you went. Not even him. Not even Loki.

But he found you.

You don’t know how long he searched. You only know that one morning, while the mist still hugged the water and dew clung to the grass like the last breath of the night, you turned from your herb garden and there he stood — a dark silhouette at the edge of the clearing, soaked in fog and silence, as though the gods themselves had carved him out of shadow and sorrow.

He didn’t speak. Neither did you. You only stared — into those green eyes that once held mirth like fireflies, now dimmed by distance and time. His hair was longer than you remembered, damp and curling at the ends. His cloak hung heavy around him, as though it had weathered a thousand storms.

You didn’t rush to him. And he didn’t plead.

He just stepped forward, slowly. Like approaching a deer in the forest. Like he knew that one wrong move would scatter this fragile miracle back into smoke.

“I dreamed of this place,” he said quietly. His voice cracked at the edges. “I didn’t know it was real.”

You said nothing. Your throat was tight with unshed things — anger, longing, relief, fear. But you nodded.

It was real. You were real. And somehow, after all that had passed between you — the wars, the betrayals, the ache of nearly loving him in secret, in silence — he was here. Flesh and breath and breaking heart.

The wind stirred your hair as you took one step toward him. Then another. Until you were close enough to feel the warmth rising from his skin, to see the fine tremble in his hands.

“I came to forget everything,” you whispered. “To become no one. To stop being what they needed and just… be.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Do you want me to leave?”

You looked at him — really looked — and your heart, so carefully stitched back together in solitude, gave one final sigh of surrender.

“No,” you said, your voice low. “I want you to stay.”

✦

And he did.

At first, he slept on the floor beside the fire. Said nothing of your silence. Helped with your garden. Cooked over flame and brewed tea from wild mint. You would catch him staring sometimes — at the curve of your jaw, the back of your hand, the way your shoulders moved when you carried wood in the morning. But he never touched you. Never asked.

He waited.

And slowly, day by day, the tight coil inside you began to loosen.

You laughed. Once, then twice. You taught him which flowers bloomed first in the spring, how to coax honey from combs without angering the bees. He told you stories in return — not the grand ones of Asgard, but quiet things. How he used to sneak away as a boy to hide by a waterfall no one else knew. How he read poetry in stolen silence. How loneliness had become a language he learned to speak fluently.

And one night, as twilight spilled silver across the water and the fire warmed the stones of your cottage, you sat beside him on the woven rug. Your shoulders brushed. You didn’t move away.

His hand lay beside yours, so close you could feel the pulse in his wrist. You looked at it. He noticed.

“I won’t take,” he said, voice low. “Not ever again. You would have to give.”

So you did.

You laced your fingers through his. Slowly. Softly. A whisper of skin against skin. He turned his head toward you, and his eyes — gods, his eyes — were filled with more wonder than you had ever seen in all the stars.

And when he kissed you — finally, sweetly — it was not the kiss of a trickster god or a prince. It was the kiss of a man who had waited lifetimes to be chosen. And he kissed you like you were something sacred.

That night, you lay together by the fire, still clothed, simply holding each other like the world might shatter if you let go. He slept with his face buried in the curve of your neck, your fingers tangled in the ends of his hair.

It was the first time he had ever truly rested.

It was not until the first full moon of summer that you invited him into your bed — not out of loneliness, but because the ache inside you had turned to something bright and undeniable.

You waited until the water had turned gold with dusk, until the last candle burned low beside your bed. Then you reached for him.

And now, here you are, beneath him, the world quiet outside your walls. His fingers trace every inch of you like scripture. He whispers your name like a prayer. And you fall into him with trust and trembling need.

✦

The night wrapped around you like a silken shroud, cool and endless, the stars spilling like scattered diamonds across the heavens. The fire's glow flickered, casting soft golden shadows that danced across Loki’s face — the god’s emerald eyes locked on you with a fierce tenderness that made your breath catch and your heart thunder in your chest.

His hands trembled slightly as he reached for you, as if touching you was a sacred act — one to be honored, revered. Slowly, reverently, Loki’s fingers traced the delicate curves of your arms, sending sparks of warmth shooting through your skin. The touch was featherlight, but the electricity beneath it was undeniable, a silent hymn of desire.

With painstaking care, he peeled away the shimmering threads of your gown, revealing the smooth expanse of your skin, pale and radiant beneath the moonlight. Each inch of flesh he exposed was like a verse in a sacred poem, sacred and breathtaking.

His eyes darkened with awe as he drank you in, voice barely more than a breath. “You are more beautiful than the sunlit realms, more radiant than the stars themselves.”

Your pulse quickened, a mix of reverence and anticipation curling through your veins like liquid fire. When Loki’s hands traced the curve of your collarbone, fingertips feathering over sensitive skin, you shivered, leaning into the touch as though seeking to melt into him.

His lips brushed your neck, gentle and worshipful, each kiss a tender benediction that made your senses blaze alive. You arched toward him involuntarily, craving the warmth of his breath, the promise whispered in the tremble of his voice.

“You are mine,” he murmured, his voice thick with devotion. “My goddess. My heart.”

Your fingers tangled in the dark strands of his hair, pulling him closer until his mouth claimed yours in a kiss both fierce and tender, a sacred exchange of yearning and belonging.

Loki’s hands roamed over your body, worshipping every curve — the swell of your breasts rising and falling beneath his touch, the delicate hollow of your waist where his fingers curled with gentle possessiveness. You gasped softly when he cupped one breast, thumb circling the soft, taut skin with exquisite care, sending shivers racing down your spine.

His mouth followed the path his hands traced, lips trailing kisses from your jaw to the tender swell of your throat, to the edge of your shoulder where he nipped gently, eliciting a breathy moan.

The world narrowed to sensation — the heat of his body pressed against yours, the warmth of his hands, the sweet ache blooming low in your belly. Loki’s fingers dipped lower, exploring the curve of your hip, the smooth planes of your thighs, each touch a silent prayer.

When his hand brushed the sensitive skin between your thighs, you parted your legs instinctively, welcoming the delicious friction, the promise of more. Loki’s eyes searched yours for permission, and when you gave it with a trembling nod, a slow smile curved his lips.

He knelt between your thighs, breath warm and steady as his fingers teased the delicate folds, coaxing you to bloom beneath his touch. You trembled with anticipation, every nerve alight with need and reverence.

Loki’s tongue traced a path along your inner thigh, warm and teasing, a stark contrast to the cool night air that kissed your skin elsewhere. When his lips finally settled on the soft, most sensitive place, the exquisite heat of his mouth sent a shudder through you, your fingers clutching the moss beneath.

He worshipped you like a god would worship a goddess — with reverence, patience, and fierce, tender hunger. His tongue flicked and swirled, each movement sending waves of pleasure crashing over you in intoxicating rhythm.

Your breath hitched, chest rising and falling as Loki’s hands gripped your hips to steady you, to anchor you to this sacred moment. You gasped softly, voice a broken whisper as his mouth worked magic beneath you.

Slowly, impossibly slowly, he lifted his head, eyes shimmering with adoration and desire. “Tell me what you need,” he murmured, voice husky with longing.

You reached down, fingers trembling as you brushed the length of his jaw, then pressed into the silken strands of his hair. “You,” you whispered. “I need you.”

Loki smiled, a slow, deep smile that promised worlds and centuries of devotion. He moved with a languid grace, shedding his cloak and tunic until bare skin met bare skin, the heat of him a living fire against your chilled flesh.

When he finally pressed himself against you, the divine weight of him was grounding, a sacred union that transcended the physical. The initial press, the slow, tantalizing stretch — every inch of Loki entering you was a prayer, a blessing whispered in the language of love and longing.

Your bodies moved together in a timeless rhythm — slow, deliberate, every movement an exploration of devotion and desire. Loki’s hands cradled you, thumbs stroking your skin as he leaned in to brush kisses along your collarbone, your shoulder, the shell of your ear.

You moaned softly, the sound a sacred hymn, echoing through the night air.

With every motion, your senses exploded — the rough strength of Loki’s hands, the warmth of his breath, the steady beat of his heart pounding beneath your palm. You felt his vulnerability as fiercely as his power, the fragile god who dared to bare his soul to you alone.

The night stretched on, endless and tender. Your bodies entwined in a sacred dance — a weaving of shadow and light, fire and ice, god and goddess united beyond time.

When at last the waves of pleasure broke over you like a tidal surge, you clung to Loki, breathless and trembling, the aftershocks pulsing through your veins like liquid starlight.

He held you close, lips pressed to your temple, whispering the words only you would ever hear.

“You are my forever,” he vowed. “My light in the endless dark.”

And as you nestled against him beneath the watchful stars, you knew this truth — in Loki’s arms, you had found your sanctuary, your home, your eternal love.

[i-am-true-believer]

Hello, my sweet fanfiction readers, the late night scrollers, and the midday day dreamers. I think it's time we do a little check in.

Take a big deep breath for me and let it out slowly. Have you drank water today? Eaten a little snack? I'm so proud of you for waking up today and for keeping going. I know the world is a scary place, and there's so much bad, and I appreciate your willingness to continue to try. I hope your scrolling brings you comfort and peace, I hope you find a safe place to land for a little while.

I'll let you get back to your scrolling soon. What are you looking for today? Enemies to lovers? Found family? Accidental baby acquisitions? Will it be a reader insert or a completely new AU? I'm sure your comfort characters are waiting for you, for your next adventure, or to revisit an old one. Just a small reminder before you go, you are loved, you are wanted, and you matter. Your comfort character would love your every flaw and would love you in all stages of your life. From your best to your worst, they would love you and want you to stay. If you love them in every universe and stage of being, flaws and all, then you can believe they'd love you the same. If there's a million different universes, then there's at least one where you're their favorite comfort character, too, and I promise they're rooting for you every step along the way.

Your comfort character believes in you and so do I, the girl on the other side of the screen who will always be a safe place to land. You are loved, you matter, you are important.

❤️💛 True 💛❤️